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Trip: Colfax Peak - The Polish Route Trip Date: 02/09/2025 Trip Report: "ILLUSION OF CHOICE" Kulshan and it's trusty sentinel. I stared at the line, tracing every section, noting unique features on the ice, taking inventory of everything I would need to pull through. The obsession was predictable. The route pulled me in singing a siren song of steep ice, promising views, and unbelievable positioning. It overtook me in a way I couldn’t quite articulate, in the way that only something brutally difficult and just within reach can do. I always want what I can’t have. I had been to the base of the climb two weeks prior and watched another party live out my dream. The climb was right there in front of me, but I was unable to interact with it. I lived the following weeks in its shadow, playing through the moves in my head instead of sleeping, going through my gear in the evenings like some sacred ritual. I had studied everything there was to study, I knew all there was to know about it - Nothing remained, except commitment. The alarm ruptures the stillness, a violence in the dark. I fumble for the headlamp, hands still clumsy with sleep. The air inside the truck is sharp and crystals glisten on my sleeping bag from the condensation. I briefly question the sanity of crawling out of the bag. I force down half a frozen donut with a caffeine pill, choke back some icy water, and tighten by boots with fingers that are already stiff. The first steps are always slow, heavy with doubt, the mind still tangled in the warmth left behind. The woods engulf me and Murray, our torch beams carve tunnels through the void, giving us a path to follow. Deadfall crunches beneath our feet and the glacier waits patiently. The woods release us and we weave through crevasses and serac debris. The stars burn above, unfeeling to the smallness of our effort. Pitches 1-2. Credit: Murray P. The first pitch was a wake-up call. Brittle and unapologetic; it kicked back harder than I expected, forcing me to fight to get purchase in the alpine ice. I didn’t believe the stories from the people that had climbed this before, about how variable the ice is up here. ‘How hard can vertical ice be?’ I naively thought. It was brutally violent to get a good stick and even harder to get decent screws. I lost count after five hollow screws and starting clipping them anyways. Part of me didn’t want to give Murray the impression I was struggling up here and the other part of me felt that if I fell, I deserved the bergschrund. It’s the flavor of climbing that demands you stay calm even when you feel the weight of the runout beneath your spikes. I was relieved when the rope came taught, signalling i could stop climbing and build an anchor. Share the burden, share the psych, and get a much-needed mental break from leading. Pitches 3-4. The Crux. Connected...still hard. A couple pitches later, the upper pillar arrived like a slow, inevitable tide. It was always there but now it was within reach. I could feel its gravity as I racked up. The lower ice appeared fat, but revealed itself as unreliable. I'd strike it and watch the fractures spiderweb outward, the sound hollow and unconvincing. Squeak, squeak, squeak, when I pried them out to retry for another swing. No easy way through. My calves were screaming, my forearms red hot. I knew I had to continue, I wasn’t even at the difficult part, yet my body was begging me for respite. I charged and got a stance below the crux, much needed rest...finally. The curtain hung over me like a guillotine, reminding me of the seriousness. Crux looming. Pitch Four. No hands rest. Our Skis visible on the glacier. I tossed aside any remaining fear, threw up the horns at Murray, and quested up the wild three-dimensional ice. After a couple body lengths, the familiar fire crept back into my arms. I wanted to climb it clean, I wanted to send, but the ice didn’t care. Pride is a useless currency up here, so I swallowed it whole, and clipped a tool. I hung there, weighting it just enough to drill a screw, and try to get the lava in my forearms to subside. My arms burned, but the pit in my stomach felt worse. I came here to climb, not to dangle like a tourist. But I wasn’t quitting, I wasn’t wasting this chance. I kept moving. I tried to keep my breathing steady, not letting the tension in my mind translate to my body. But the moment came—a simple shake out on a matched tool, something I had done hundreds of times before. In an instant I was airborne, cursing before the rope broke my fall. I slammed into the curtain, my right hip taking the brunt of it. I hung there for what felt like an eternity, choking down the frustration and stunned at how careless I was being. A fall on ice is a cardinal sin, and to do it in the alpine – unforgivable. I was disgusted with myself for not being stronger, not working harder in the months leading up to this, for tainting our send with a fall and clipped tools. I was ashamed but also guilty; I had taken the lead from Murray and made a mess of it. No time to cry…the sun was getting lower with every excuse I uttered aloud and to myself in my head. I pulled the rope back in and reset my feet. Swing. Placement. Breathe. Swing again. My tools vibrated in the curtain after every solid stick. I fought for every inch on the pitch and eventually when the angle eased, I was treated to some glorious neve. I only had two screws left so I pushed to an ice blob where I could bring Murray up. I could feel my heart pounding in my fingertips. I wanted to let out some kind of battle cry, but I knew better. This was just a small win, if you could even call it that. The route continued upward, unaware of my private hell. Hero swings above the crux. Credit: Murray P. We finished out the last 2 ice steps, quickly, but in the dark now. We coiled the rope and made a break for the ridge line, treading carefully in the unprotectable steep snow. We both stared at the summit. It’s only a short hike up and back, but I knew we weren’t going there—we couldn’t. It was dark, It was cold, and we needed to get off this thing as soon as possible. We traversed right past it and continued towards the planned descent. The cold sun had left us and the mountain reminded us who was really in control. Hands freezing, toes numb, and blanketed in the fresh moonlight, we hastily dropped back towards our skis. Our ticket home. Dusk on Lincoln Peak. Credit: Murray P. The silence at the base was heavy, the kind that only manifests after pushing yourself past the limit. This had been everything I wanted. This climb had consumed me, occupied my thoughts for weeks, dictated my training, my sleep, my diet. And now it was done. I should have felt something. Pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief. Instead, there was nothing. A quiet, empty space took hold where something should have been. And maybe that was worse. Because if this wasn’t it—if this didn’t fill that void—then what would? Maybe if I had climbed it in better style, or made better time, or hadn’t screwed it all up with a fall, it would’ve been enough. I’ll never know that answer. I clicked into my skis and took one last look at Colfax. The frozen waterfall was dancing in the moonlight, but it was already fading away. With every second, the climb became more memory than experience, a tale that gets told rather than an idea living inside me. The melancholy quickly retreated after the first few powder turns and didn’t return until I got a ski stuck in a creek bed a couple miles later. Gear Notes: 14 screws, 12 draws, 1 picket, Rack o Nutz. Approach Notes: Drove to the last pullout before the Heliotrope Ridge Trailhead, bathroom still not blocked in. Booted a mile or so on the summer trail then transitioned to skis and continued on the CD route until reaching Colfax. To descend, we traversed eastward along the North flank of Colfax, eventually reaching the Kulshan-Colfax col and could drop back down to the glacier.

Trip: Banks Lake - Spice Rack M10+ (a Salt and Pepper direct start) Trip Date: 02/17/2025 Trip Report: This line struck me the first time I visited banks. By no means an original thought, every mixed climbing pervert who ever drove by also looked at it and felt their pants tighten. How we got so lucky came down to three factors: great weather, getting passed over on a trip to the Rockies (I’m over it now), and JJ’s advertisement of his OnlyFans during a UIAA comp- resulting in a season ban. Looking for a cathartic substitute we pivoted to suffering upward. For the uninitiated, Salt and Pepper is the existing WI5 line conventionally approached via a short 5th class traverse from the left. This direct start provides two amazing mixed pitches and 15-25m of bonus ice depending on the main dagger's condition. Weekend 1: @ColonelCrag aka Christian Junkar, and JJ, aka Jedrzej Jablonski began this attempt’s reconnaissance in early Feb, aiding the start of pitch 1 to assess feasibility, then rap bolting an intermediate anchor at the dagger, along with a few permadraws in the roof. I joined for a caffeine induced day trip from Seattle, attempting to lead from the bottom. Several whips and rock releases later, the drill came up pitch 1. With dwindling sun, the p1 highpoint was fixed with an orange rope. Salt and Pepper’s main dagger was the biggest we’ve ever seen, adding 25m of ice climbing to the standard route. Weekend 2, Day 1: (More Development) Government Worker's Weekend (previously known as Presidents’) provided an ideal weather window with a cold snap in the single digits followed by several days of stabilizing temps. As expected, the dagger snapped. Left, right and middle towards the wall cleaved off, leaving just the optimal contact area at the wall and a thin curtain with a shower in the middle. Maybe 10m of bonus ice disappeared, forcing the line to continue further up the p2 rock roof, gaining the ice with several overhanging moves. The fixed orange rope had been buried by the breaking dagger, with perhaps 15m of it claimed by fallen ice. The visible rope was cut, leaving the buried rope to be fished out from the fall’s pool in summertime. We continued the development with Tom bolting bottom up and leading some sections, JJ bolting top-down, we met at the p1 anchor… dodging icefall from the roof releasing throughout the day. Typing this a week later, I still feel my back from top-stepping aiders while bolting overhead in the p1 roof. Meanwhile, Christian was rewarded for his patient belay with a micro-trax solo of the first two pitches on a fixed line and cleaned as much as possible with the given daylight. Day 2: (Send day) We slept in and began around noon. Christian led pitch 1 and easily danced up the pitch while tossing loose rocks over his shoulder. Having recently competed in finals at the Ouray Mixed Comp, his base strength and finesse made it look much easier than reality. JJ followed, while clipping a second single rope for me as the third, allowing us to “siege” or “caterpillar” the line. We opted for two single ropes as opposed to twins, for the ease of manipulation in the p2 roof. In retrospect, either method would work fine- though a twin rope might have too much give if you fell while following in the p2 roof to get back on. The pitch 1 dagger and subsequent traverse remain exposed to falling rock and ice and act as a decisive hazard crux following the technical crux. At the p1 anchor, we hauled a pig via tag line on the last climber. (The pig rested on the far right side of the anchor ledge, waiting to be tagged up to the p2 anchor belay cave. This pig contained water, snax, and normal boots and pons for JJ and CJ, who opted to wear comp boots for p1 and p2. I opted to wear normal boots and my standard 1100g development pons, and was not prepared for the resultant level of suffering.) JJ boldly led out p2, with delicate feet and only minor grunting in the power crux (a full stretch stein to v-notch). Leading the final 15m of ice in comp boots and no secondaries must have been terrible, considering the ice required heavy cleaning. JJ might have placed a single screw in the ice, then levitated to the belay cave on the right side. Once we gathered at p2 anchor, the pig joined us, only getting caught briefly on the dagger. With happy feet we finished the ice pitches about 4:30pm, the only snag being a brutal 3-man rope pull from the ground. The intermediate anchor needs improvement as noted elsewhere. Beers and ice cream followed, celebrating both the send and our luck. Route P1 M8+ 30m 8 bolts, 2-3 screws, 2 knife blades, .2-.4; belay from a bolt and ice screws on the ledge to the left of the first bolt. 10’ of choss gives way to better rock and generous bolts, then gains the left side of the dagger to the shelf, going right to one more bolt and connecting ice blobs to the upper shelf. Stubbies or knifeblades would be helpful in the upper ice. Bolted belay ledge includes a rap ring for bail. A single 60m can rap to the ledge, walking / downclimbing the rest of the way. P2 M10+ 30m 4 screws, 10 bolts, 7 permadraws… so bring 2 draws for hangers without permas, and draws for screws. We placed 2 screws and used 2 at the anchor. Climb rock for a move or two up towards the first bolt until you can step onto the dagger left. Traverse daggers for a couple of moves (screw optional) and then enter the roof following bolts leading to the upper dagger. Recommended to go left on the dagger and then back right to belay in a cave on the right of the main flow. This route could be aided after the starting dagger. P3 wi5 main flow P4 10m wi4 3min walk to the back of your lazy susan where the forgotten spices and flours remain untouched. Rap: V-thread from the top of P4. Bolted anchor on top of p3 to the right side. Double 60 to intermediate rap chains (located where p2 gains ice on the right side of the flow. This anchor needs fixing… the 6mm chain was too short and makes for high friction pull (3 men, 1 rope). Second ascent party should add quick links compatible with 6mm chain and rap rings. From here, a double 60m rap easily touches down. Gear Notes: Screws, KBs, .2-.4, draws, double 60m. Approach Notes: Start at the back of the cave, expect ice/rock shedding until at the start.